


Stretching Exercises

by juliafied



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Communication, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Fenris (Dragon Age) Smut, Fluff and Smut, NSFW, POV Fenris (Dragon Age), PWP, Playful Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27526132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliafied/pseuds/juliafied
Summary: Hawke tries some new stretching exercises. Fenris thinks she looks nice doing them. Fun and shamelessly smutty.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Stretching Exercises

A shaft of sunlight woke Fenris by falling directly onto his left eye, peeking through a gap between the heavy dark velvet drapes Hawke had recently bought, ostensibly to prevent this sort of thing. The elf groaned, stretched, and rolled onto his side, only to realize that the sleepy woman he was expecting to grumble at him was missing. Perhaps there was some sense to the new curtains – as someone who was typically woken by the dawn, Fenris hadn’t risen later than the ever-tardy Hawke in years.

He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, and reached for his tunic, thrown casually onto the armchair next to the bed. He preferred to sleep almost in the nude, save for a pair of soft silk smalls, but it wouldn’t do to scandalize Orana, who he knew would be in the kitchen at this hour. Pulling on a pair of soft linen breeches, he yawned, and stood to pour himself a glass of water from the jug Hawke kept at her bedside. No note. She hadn’t left for the morning, then.

Draining the glass, he promptly made the bed, smoothing the creases in the rich blue silk fondly. The bedspread had been a gift from him to Hawke, after the teal and sapphire colour of the fabric had caught her eye in the market. He had ordered half a bolt and some linen to match and had sheets and a coverlet made, the Amell crest embroidered in beautiful silver fabric. It was Hawke’s favourite colour, despite the trademark crimson hues of her family insignia. He smiled, recalling her delight when he had surprised her with them. Delight which had ensured the bed linens be utilized almost immediately.

He descended the stairs lazily, passing Orana in the kitchen, which smelled heavenly, likely due to the loaf of freshly baked bread she had just set onto the counter. Fenris had taken to drinking coffee, a recent Antivan import to the Kirkwall market, and he waved a hovering Orana off as he set about boiling some water, stirring in the earthy, fragrant powder.

“Please do not trouble yourself, you’re busy enough as it is. Is that lamb?” he asked, sniffing the pot in the hearth.

“Yes, I thought messere Hawke would enjoy the Rivaini spices with it,” the elf woman said proudly.

Fenris smiled. “It smells wonderful, Orana, thank you.” Pouring his coffee into a mug, he sat down at the dining table, surveying the correspondence that had come in and sipping as he read. A letter from Bethany that Hawke hadn’t opened, meaning she hadn’t checked the mail yet. He called out to the kitchen. “Orana, did Felissa go into town?”

Orana poked her head around the corner, a faint blush in her cheeks. “No, she is in the courtyard, serah.”

He smiled bemusedly, and she hurried back to her tasks. Why would she blush? Had she overheard something the night before? Hawke should really insist she retire earlier, though Orana’s consummate perfectionism always had her dusting here and polishing there long after Felissa had told her to go home. With luck, however, any embarrassment would smooth over in time. He snatched up Aveline’s most recent missive and began to read as he ambled over to the courtyard.

The sight that greeted Fenris there, although he did not see it immediately, distracted as he was by Aveline’s latest discoveries of blood magic in a Darktown underground warehouse, nearly made him spill his coffee. It was definitely Hawke, the same familiar mop of hair, twisted into a tight bun atop her head, pouting with the same lips he knew so well, the same brow that he so often saw bunched up in concentration. She was… situated… in the middle of the courtyard, where the flagstones formed a sort of clearing, and the best way Fenris could describe what she was doing was, inexplicably, forming a sort of triangle shape with her body, hands and feet on the ground, and her very scantily-clad arse pointing straight into the air. Her shirt lay discarded on a nearby bench, and the effects of gravity on the contents of her breast band were, well, more than flattering. Whatever it was she was doing, she was clearly exerting herself, as evidenced by the sheen of sweat coating her lower back.

If he was to be completely frank, it was _hot_. Correspondingly, Fenris felt a growing tightness in his breeches.

Upon his approach, Hawke lifted a hand off the ground and gave him a wave, the delight with which she did so suggesting she was surprised at this newfound ability.

“Good morning!” she called out, as he gingerly made his way over, unsuccessfully trying not to stare at Felissa’s ample busom that was just barely being restrained by her breast band. She bent one knee slightly, then the other, as she stretched out her calves. “The new curtains really work, huh? Never thought I’d be up earlier than you.”

“The curtains… yes,” he responded absentmindedly, nearly knocking over his mug of coffee after setting it down next to him on the bench where Hawke’s shirt lay innocently. Fenris watched as Hawke transitioned, with a long exhale, from this pose into a plank, which was familiar to him from his own calisthenic exercises. She then dropped her hips to hover, tops of her feet and her hands on the ground, in a sort of inverse position to the one she was in before. This one was even more flattering.

“I saw some Qunari soldiers doing these kinds of exercises in their compound the other day,” she offered by way of explanation. “They were amused enough by the interest of a Bas to let me watch. I figured,” she added, switching back now to the original pose, which she held for just a moment before stepping both feet forward to fold in half, “it could help me with that pesky back pain I’ve been having.”

Realizing that she expected him to say something, Fenris quickly remarked, “Interesting…”

With a huff, Hawke stood up completely and crossed her arms exasperatedly, resulting in yet another unintentionally delicious posture. Hair just the right amount of awry, the light sheen of sweat catching the light on each soft curve, brows knitted together adorably… “What’s the matter with you today? Maker’s breath, talk about waking up on the wrong— _oh_ …”

Her expression quickly changed as she noticed his smirk, and the now obvious stiffness in his pants. Her lip curved mischievously to match. “I see you like it, then?” she queried, a purr in her voice, and took a step towards him.

“Can you do that first exercise again?”

Hawke laughed, then, and planted her hands on the stone once more. “This one?”

“Mmm. Yes.” He stood, admired the view for a moment, and walked up behind her. “May I?”

“Guide my stretch? By all means, my love,” Hawke said, falsely innocent. Fenris gave a low chuckle before firmly grasping her arse, clad only in thin linen shorts, letting himself press his stiffness only briefly against her most sensitive area, before letting go, satisfied to see her squirm.

“I didn’t quite get the gist of the other pose, the one after the plank,” he said in a low voice, circling around her. “Would you show it to me?”

Hawke obliged with a wicked smile, her biceps pushing up her breasts in the band ever so mouth-wateringly. Unable to resist, he knelt in front of her, and pressed his mouth to hers languorously. She, in turn, darted her hot tongue in between his lips, which he met with his own. He slipped a hand inside of her breast band and gave one of her breasts a squeeze, not neglecting to pinch the delectable pink nipple. His ministrations, however, had unfortunately increased the precariousness with which the breast band was performing its duties, and Hawke abandoned the pose to quickly fix it.

“Sorry,” she gasped, “that one’s actually rather difficult.”

He chuckled and went to kiss her again, but she stopped him with a laugh. “Give me a second, Fen.”

Fenris could be very patient, as impossible as the situation could seem. Thus, he watched, with only slight disappointment, as Hawke rose to pull on her shirt.

“If you’re not in the mood, Hawke, I apologize for interrupting you…”

She flashed a look at him from under dusky lashes, and held out her hand, which he gladly took. “Not at all. In fact, I like that you liked it,” she continued, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “But Orana was embarrassed enough at seeing my lack of dress this morning, I don’t think I want to subject her to walking in on us having sex in the courtyard.”

Fenris snorted. She was right: nearly every room in the house had an exit to the outdoor space. “Fair enough. In that case, why don’t we go and visit those drapes you like so well?”

By way of answer, Hawke slipped her hand down the front of his breeches and grasped him for only a moment. Her breath hot in his ear, she whispered, “With pleasure.”

What felt like an eternity later, but was probably only a few minutes, they were back in the bedroom, Hawke’s hair splayed out on the beautiful blue bedspread. Fenris then knelt by the edge, and pulled her towards him by the waist, letting his tongue cautiously meet the pink wetness between her thighs. Feeling the shake of her leg on his shoulder, and hearing her small moan, he continued, slipping a finger, then two, inside, curling them upwards and thrusting with the rhythm of his tongue’s ministrations. Feeling her thighs begin to quiver more intensely, he increased the tempo just how he knew she liked it – she responded accordingly, writhing more and more, crying out with pleasure. At this display, Fenris couldn’t help but drop one of his hands down and cater to himself, if only briefly, until the fire at the pit of his stomach roared, demanding satisfaction. Still, ever the picture of patience, guided by Hawke’s shaking thighs, he continued the devotion of his tongue to her sensitive nub, until he felt her convulse for several seconds, a crescendo of moans erupting from her mouth. He waited, holding her hips and gently kissing her inner thighs, for the wave to subside, until he heard a strangled, “Please, love.”

Urgently, fervently, he rose, grasping her by the waist once more, this time to flip her over, so that he could fully enjoy her delicious arse. He thought himself the luckiest man in all of Thedas, then, to be able to behold the beautiful sight of Hawke, _his_ Hawke, arse in the air, hands by her sides, grasping for his thighs, begging for him to enter her. To say he was happy to oblige was an understatement; as he slipped into her slick folds, he idly wondered how it was possible feel such pleasure, such complete and utter bliss. He forgot this wondering, or any thoughts at all, really, as soon as he began thrusting, first slowly, then increasing in speed and intensity, into her. He lowered his weight on top of her, one hand reaching under her to pinch one of her sensitive nipples, the other to stroke her sweet nub. Her hands joined his own to encourage and guide, while his moans melted with hers into a chorus of pleasure. His rhythm reached a fever pitch, and when Hawke began slamming her hips into his own, begging him to come for her, he was overwhelmed by deep, rolling waves of pleasure as he shuddered into her body in an explosion of relief, calling her name.

Afterwards, overcome, he peppered the accessible sides of her jaw, the back of her neck, her shoulders, with tiny kisses. “I love you,” he whispered, filled with a satisfying mix of joy and relief. “I love you.”

Hawke turned to him and kissed him deeply. “And I, you,” she replied, immense adoration in her eyes. “Always.”

With a contented sigh, he rolled off of her, reaching to pull her head towards his chest. Hawke, however, stayed in the position she was in, knees on the bed, arse in the air, arms outstretched in front of her head. She started to giggle.

“What is it, Hawke?” he asked with a tentative grin, unsure what to think of this development.

She continued to laugh, her chest heaving. “It’s nothing. It’s just…”

“What?”

“This was one of the poses the Qunari were doing. Imagine that, twenty enormous horned warriors, looking just like this.”

“You jest,” he said accusingly, but started laughing incredulously as well.

“I swear on the Maker, it’s true. It was ridiculous,” Hawke assured him, in between peals of laughter.

And thus, they laughed and laughed some more, and when Hawke inevitably nuzzled her head into Fenris’ chest, he felt as if nothing mattered beyond the contents of this room, drapes and all.

**Author's Note:**

> The "stretching exercises" are obviously yoga. Could this be inspired by at-home quarantine yoga? Maybe...


End file.
